


No Time Like the Future

by Kittycattycat



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: A lot of background characters dying/screaming unfortunately, But not in the typical way, Crying, Death, Gen, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, POV Third Person, Prophetic Visions, Psychological Trauma, This is uncomfortable and bad and dark but idk how to tag it, Trauma, Visions, but again...not in the typical way, but he doesn’t want them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:27:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24084343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittycattycat/pseuds/Kittycattycat
Summary: Horrifying prophecies tend to come at the most inopportune times— or at least, for Indrid they do.
Relationships: Indrid Cold & A Lot of Horror and Guilt
Kudos: 6





	No Time Like the Future

Indrid was very rarely horny. He wasn’t asexual strictly speaking, but he was typically busy, and his sex drive was apparently quite low. Masturbating was never very high on his priority list. He more or less stopped touching himself all together, though, after the last time he’d felt the urge.

Hand blurring over his cock and glasses sliding down the flat bridge of his nose and soft whimpers and groans falling from his parted lips, he got several visions. A great many visions, filling his mind so damn quickly he jolted in his seat on the stain-covered couch and could hardly could focus on anything. Fire, burning hot and tall and tearing violently into sky. He could hear the muffled and distant screams of whatever crowd of people must have been nearby. A large building crumbled. What building? What building? He just didn't know. There was no sign that he could see, and he couldn't recognize the building itself either. There was crying, and there were bodies. 

Indrid was absolutely fucking horrified, and it was at that moment that the betraying hellhole he called a body chose to come, white splattering over his stomach and his hand as terror shone harshly in his wide eyes. He was shaking hard as the ‘pleasure’ dulled. He wished he could tear his skin apart.

Later that night, he sobbed hard into his pillow for the first time in years, maybe even decades, because that was absolutely the most disgusting, vile, fucked up thing he'd ever done— even if he hadn't meant to do it. 

Could he even call it trauma if it was no one’s fault but his own?

**Author's Note:**

> I’d say sorry but I’m not tbh


End file.
